


Damage.

by thecurlyone



Series: Cat verse [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlyone/pseuds/thecurlyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cat becomes a bone of contention between them, Gwen acts as a therapist and Shakespeare makes a return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage.

**Author's Note:**

> Watched Shakespeare in Love before I wrote this chapter...so yeah

The Doctor was forced to admit that the cat was not working out.

The Master was inclined to disagree though.

*****

It was little things at first, Minna waking him up when he was trying to sleep because she was hungry. Not that she doesn’t wake the Master up for food, because she does and it’s not that the Doctor begrudges feeding creatures that can’t feed themselves because they lack opposable thumbs or the appropriate technology that has rendered opposable thumbs obsolete.

It really the manner of how she wakes them up. Minna would curl up beside the Master and purr contentedly until he was ready to get up and feed her. The Doctor knew this because he watches the cat at night, which is in no way creepy.

However when Minna decided to wake the Doctor up-she only came near him for food when he had fallen asleep-it was with a jab of her claws into whatever body part that was available. Of course, he would make some embarrassing noise, fall out of bed and end up kicking the Master in the process.

The Master, as cynical as he is, doesn’t believe in the inherent badness of the cat, that she’s purposely doing this. Instead, he just rolls his eyes, rolls over, doing his best to ignore the Doctor while muttering something about moving back to his own room. The Doctor, of course, would try to untangle himself from the blankets, while the cat purred and padded around him in an extremely superior way.

After the first six or seven times this happened, the Doctor, fearing that the Master would make good on his threat decided to make sure he’d stay by default. If default is short for the Doctor ejecting all the bedrooms in the TARDIS except his own and with a little finagling causing all the furniture that could conceivably be slept to take a quick trip to Elriun 7 if anyone began to drift off on it. There was no way the Master was going to sleep on the floor and so the Doctor got his way. By default.

The Doctor was also worried that having a cat was perhaps not the best way to improve the Master’s questionable mental wellbeing. There was, of course, the perfunctory James Bond villain moments for one thing.

The amount of times the Doctor had walked in on him talking to Minna as if she was having a conversation with him was also worrying.

Yesterday, he caught him reading to her and occasionally making comments on various aspect of the story. The strangest thing was that he after he made a comment he would pause, as if giving the cat a chance to respond, then nod or shake his head at whatever Minna had ”said” to him. Very worrying indeed.

Even more worrying was that he caught him explaining how to pilot the TARDIS to Minna. Clearly, the beginnings of some elaborate escape attempt. The Doctor wondered what he had done to precipitate this one or maybe the Master was just that bored. Either way, it was obvious that the cat had to go.

*****

The Doctor subtly dropped hints that maybe a pet wasn’t the right thing for them, too much chance of it being injured/killed/metamorphosing, too much work involved with it. Anything he could think of really. The Master knew what he was doing but pretended to be oblivious.

Still eventually, the Doctor caught on that the Master was just playing stupid. This then caused a period of general nastiness, bitterness and childishness that made the time just after the whole business of the-year-that-never-was look like afternoon tea with crumpets.

It escalated so much that the Doctor found himself shouting one morning, “Take the stupid cat and leave!” while dripping water everywhere, clutching a bath towel and brandishing a bottle of shampoo.

What he meant to say of course was “I have many reservations about the cat and if you would kindly wait until I’ve had my shower and some breakfast, then I’d like to rationally discuss my concerns with you.”

He didn’t of course and in the end, it probably doesn’t matter, as the Master would most likely do the same thing when faced with either situation.

He left.

Or more precisely he grabbed Minna, pulled a highly modified vortex manipulator from his pocket (which were also bigger on the inside), waved at the Doctor sarcastically, said “bye-bye” with equal sarcasm and activated the manipulator.

The Doctor absolutely did not squeak.

*****

As usual, the TARDIS had been orbiting Earth at the time, so it wasn’t much trouble to teleport down. A few hours of buying ridiculously expensive clothing gave the Master some time to consider his position.

The conclusion he came to was this: the Doctor was taking him for granted.

The cure: a spot of jealously usually worked wonders.

Now how to go about it.

Lucy was out of the question, what with her being completely mad nowadays and locked up.

The Master considered going back and shacking up with one of the Doctor’s previous incarnations. That would really make him jealous and quite angry too. Inter-Doctor hostilities were traditional after all.

Of course then there was the matter of messing up the timelines to consider. This galaxy would probably do something tedious like implode if he did go back. He had learned too, that universal destruction was not the most successful of seduction techniques.

Still there were others that could make the Doctor jealous. The Master chuckled to himself and went to pay for his newly tailored suit, courtesy of Torchwood.

*****

After the Master had spontaneously disappeared on him, the Doctor had haphazardly got dressed and raced to the console to try to track the Master. But obviously he had been planning this for a while and the TARDIS couldn’t get a lock on him.

There was nothing to do but mope. He sat around for a few days listening to Cindy Lauper songs, but it was no use. If he wanted the Master back, he needed to be proactive about this.

He set the coordinates for Cardiff.

*****

Jack thinks he may be developing some kind of six sense for avoiding the Doctor. Something he has become immensely happy about.

He feels sorry for Gwen, but not that sorry. She’s on her own on this one.

He’s just glad that he managed to hide in time.

The rest of the team will probably kill her when the Doctor leaves but she completely brought it on herself, she’s the one that asked him what was wrong.

That was four hours and copious amounts of manly tears ago. Something tells Jack that this is the highly abbreviated version of the story they’re getting too.

*****

“So he just took the cat and left!” The Doctor finishes, hopping up from his chair for about the twelfth million time since he originally sat on it.

“There, there” says Gwen consolingly, “I had a boyfriend like that once.”

“And I can’t find him anywhere!”

“Well where did you try looking?”

“Everywhere! The entire width and breadth of time and space! I even scanned black holes to make sure he hadn’t fallen in one again!”

Not the usual answer you expect to get when you ask that question, behind the sofa is usually the standard.

“Yes, well did you try looking for him- just looking yourself, not using any fancy gizmos?”

The Doctor continues to mope, “No...”

“Well then just think of what he likes and start there. Does he have any hobbies?” Gwen’s gotten up from the chair she has been sitting in for most of the time, hoping the Doctor will take the hint and leave.

“Well he mostly likes megalomania and the teletubbies.”

Gwen just blinks, “Well is there anyone else he would go to, a shoulder to cry on?”

“No he doesn’t like anyone.”

Damn.

“Well...you’ve known each other for quite a while, haven’t you?”

The Doctor looks wistful, “Yes, 900 wonderful years.”

“Right, and you’ve been on and off again during that time?”

The Doctor scratches the back of his neck, “Well...yeah, yeah we have.”

It is obvious to Gwen where the boyfriend has gone; breaking it to the Doctor gently will be difficult though.

“So has there been anyone else for him...when you two are off again?”

“No, not really. There was his wife but she shot him...Naw he wouldn’t go back to her.” The Doctor eyes widen as he realises exactly where the Master has gone.

Martha is unfortunate to have entered to the hub at that moment.

“Shakespeare! Bloody Shakespeare!” she can hear the Doctor shouting and suddenly he’s racing past her to where the TARDIS is parked, shouting, “He left me for Shakespeare!” as he goes.

*****

Once the TARDIS has dematerialized and Jack feels it’s safe to come out, he crawls out of his hiding place and puts an arm around Gwen.

“Gwen,” he says grinning, “how about a raise?”

*****

Shakespeare gasps and arches up off the bed under the Master as he grazes his thumb across his nipple. The Maser smirks and is leaning forward to catch his lips as Shakespeare begins to unbutton his shirt and slide his hand across the Master’s chest when the Doctor barges in brandishing a sword.

This is even better than the Master had hoped.

Shakespeare, who is already terrified of the Doctor, beats a hasty retreat.

The Master watches him go, smirking and then turns back to the Doctor and arches an eyebrow, “well?”

The Doctor drops his sword with a clang (severely damaging the floor in the process) and strides forward and pulls the Master up by his shirt collar.

“You,” he snarls, punctuating each word, “Are. Not. Allowed. To. Have. Sex. With. Anyone. But. Me.” Then he drags the Master into a bruising kiss and pushes him back on the bed.

He sheds his coat, jacket, shirt and tie and then wraps his tie around the Master’s hands. The Master smirks at the Doctor for thoroughly falling for his plan and wriggles under him. The Doctor growls again and unzips the Master’s trousers and then hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them and his underwear off together.

The Doctor leans down and blows warm air against the tip of his cock, the Master shudders, and his hips bucking up involuntary. The Doctor grins widely and sits back on his haunches, admiring the view.

“Tease,” the Master groans.

The Doctor hums thoughtfully and rubs his thumbs over the head of the Master’s cock, “No, Master, I think that’s you.”

The Master grits his teeth, “Hurry up and do something or I’ll get Shakespeare to come back here.”

The Doctor glares at him, stands up to take off his trousers, and snatches up his coat. He grins triumphantly when he finds the tube of lube and then crawls back up the bed in between the Master’s spread legs.

“Finally,” the Master mutters and gasps when the Doctor’s hand encloses around his cock and begins roughly jerking him off. The Master shudders and gasps and the Doctor keeps it up until the Master shakes one last time and comes all over the Doctor’s hand and his stomach. The Doctor licks the cum off his fingers and leans forward to kiss the Master. He makes a little disgusted face at the taste of his cum and then throws back his head and moans when the Doctor slowly puts one slicked up finger just in past his rim.

The Master hisses through his teeth, “Rassilon I hate you! Hurry up!”

The Doctor presses a second finger in along with the first, “I hate you too.”

He scissors his fingers and then adds a third. He’s not being very gentle but the Master’s too fucked out to complain, plus he is a bit of a bastard and the Doctor decides he deserves it.

The Master moans loudly when the Doctor pulls out his fingers and then louder when the Doctor presses in. The Doctor hitches the Master’s legs up over his shoulders and bends him nearly in half as he sets a brutal pace. With his hands tied, the Master can’t do much except lie there, moan, and be fucked within an inch of his life.

Too soon, the Doctor’s rhythm begins to falter and he comes with a moan and bites down on the Master’s shoulder.

The Doctor collapses on top of him and the Master grunts in protest and half-heartedly shoves him. The Doctor sighs happily, rolls over, unties the Master’s hands, and then mutters, “Only sex with me”. Then he drifts off. The Master rolls his eyes and gets up before the Doctor can start to sleep snuggle.

Quickly he picks up his discarded clothes, pulling them on quickly and quietly. When he’s dressed, he peeks out the door and the first thing he notices is Shakespeare and a crowd of enraged actors with pointy things making their way up the street.

The Master laughs gleefully at the prospect of this and the Doctor, who has conditioned himself to wake when the Master laughs gleefully, unsurprisingly wakes up.

“Wha?” he mumbles.

The Master pouts, “Did you have to wake up? I was looking forward to seeing you stabbed rather like an impromptu performance of Julius Caesar.”

“Huh?” and the Doctor stumbles to his feet and somehow manages to pull on his trousers without tripping. He blinks myopically over the Master’s shoulder and rubs his eyes with his fist, “Is everyone that Shakespeare knows coming to kill me with pointy things?”

The Master grins, “I’d say he knows more people than that.”

“Hate you...” and he slams the door and haphazardly begins to pull on his jacket, coat, and converse, his shirt lying forgotten at his feet.

“C’mon!” and he pulls the Master towards a conveniently placed backdoor.

They run through the muddy back streets and make it to the TARDIS just in time, slamming the door after them, because actors, it turns out, are fast.

*****

It’s not until, after they’ve dematerialized and had a good argument (their way of saying-I’m glad you’re back/I’m glad to be back) that they realise they’ve left the cat in Elizabethan England. The Master decides they have to go back and the Doctor agrees on the condition that the Master doesn’t set foot outside the TARDIS. Just to be doubly sure that he doesn’t the Doctor may have slipped something into his tea.

After a couple of fruitless hours searching randomly, the Doctor finally decides that he has to talk to Shakespeare. The Master had said that was where Minna would probably be after all. He possibly, maybe owes him an apology too.

The Globe’s quiet and almost in darkness when the Doctor gets there, but he can see the flickering of candle light from somewhere in the back. Sure enough, it’s Shakespeare furiously scribbling away.

The Doctor clears his throat loudly and Shakespeare jumps and then moves back, putting his hands up placating, “You’re not going to kill me are you?”

“No, no, not really my style.”

Shakespeare sighs, relieved.

“Listen,” the Doctor rubs the back of his neck, “You haven’t seen a cat about here? Anywhere? Have you?”

“Yes, she’s asleep in that box yonder” and he points to the corner where Minna is curled up, purring contentedly.

“Right, good, good...and I wanted to apologise...for everything that happened between us over the Master.”

Shakespeare sighs and sits down, “No, no need to sir. I have accepted the truth that we were not meant to be,” he perks up a little, “it has even given me great inspiration for my next work!”

“Really? What is it?” The Doctor sits down on a chair beside Shakespeare’s desk.

“Oh it will be a tragic comedy Doctor, a story about two lovers, separated by fate, one of the betrothed away-”

“No, no, we’re not betrothed yet”.

Shakespeare ignores it and keeps on talking, “It will be full of mistaken identities, have a ship wreck, pirates-”

The Doctor grins, “And what are you going to call it?”

“Romeo and Ethel the pirate’s daughter!” he finishes triumphantly.

The Doctor makes a choking noise, “Right, well must be off,” and he stoops down and picks up Minna, careful not to wake her, “oh but maybe you should rethink the name.”  
  



End file.
